The cinderblock walls were painted in a light, medicinal green. Everything was low-key, and sickly. Niko Bellic gripped the bars to his cell and stared out into the middle distance. He thought of his native Serbia. The atrocities that he witnessed there were like a sun-dappled tour of Outlook Park in a stolen 2008 Lexus ES with the driver’s side window smashed in by a brick to let in the breeze compared to just one day in the Liberty City Penitentiary’s laundry room.
On his first day in prison, in the cafeteria, Niko decided to pick the toughest, meanest looking con he could find, and beat the shit out of him to establish dominance. But his punching was so slow due to poor gaming function that even by repeatedly hitting b and sometimes y for an alternate attack, he still ended up in the infirmary for two weeks. And after that, he was marked as an easy target. He got raped all the time. Even now, standing at the bars to his cell, reflecting on the path that got him here, even in this quiet moment of despair, someone was raping his asshole.
It turns out that as bad as getting caught stealing cars all the time and running over thousands—literally thousandsof pedestrians, and shooting prostitutes in the face, and smuggling drugs, and evading arrest can be for the common criminal, the punishments for an undocumented foreigner just off the boat are much more severe. And with the Union of States’s tense attitude towards immigration in the face of post-8/10 terrorist threats, his state appointed lawyer anticipated having the full weight of the Citizen Act thrown at them. Niko could end up in Guntimono Cove.
Whoever was raping him finished. Niko sighed and watched a guard crossing on the opposite walkway, his nightstick rattling aggressively against the bars. Niko thought of his mother back home, of the open road, of freedom, and that was all he had time for before someone new began to rape him from behind.